


Panicked

by Hoodoo



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Panic Attacks, Smut, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26372677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Beetlejuice finds you in the midst of an anxiety attack.
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader, Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 80





	Panicked

You were burrowed here, hidden away like a mouse. It was dark and quiet but you were hyperalert. You could hear your own heart pounding wildly in your chest, in your ears, and you were breathing through your mouth like you’d run a mile. You were frozen but your hands were shaking hands were shaking, and you just wanted to curl up so tightly you wouldn’t be seen.

The sound of the bedroom door creaking open made you cower, which made the panic worse. You bit your lip to keep from crying out, because then you’d be found, then you’d be discovered--

Someone stepped closer to the bed. Now, near you, the mattress shifted as they sat down. Something snaked under the dome of blankets you’d cocooned yourself in for protection.

Reflexively, you struck out.

Your wrist was caught and you sobbed wordlessly.

“Baby?” Beetlejuice’s gravely voice asked, somewhere outside the blankets.

You were held captive by the panic in your head, but that voice and his hand grasping you was something solid on the slippery slope of fear you were standing on.

Beetlejuice didn’t turn on any lights. He was a specter, and didn’t need them. He kept hold on your wrist like a guideline and tunneled his way through your defensive blankets. Even under the covers he could see the mess you were: sweaty face, tear streaks on your cheeks. Your gaspy little breaths filled the tight area with sound. Every muscle in your body was stiff, frozen in a fight-or-flight struggle.

He immediately loosened his grip but didn’t let you go. He kept physical contact with you, intuiting that if he released you completely the chances of laying hands on you again were slim; you’d either fight him tooth and nail or cower away in deeper fear. So he carefully opened his hand hand but slid it up your arm, to your shoulder. 

You wanted to push him away, wanted to flail and scream and hide, hide, hide--

\--but you’re weak as a kitten and can’t. 

There’s still the panic of course. Sharp, endless panic, pricking you. Your tears hadn’t stopped and in these close quarters, the air feels heavy. You’re compressed by it.

Beetlejuice pulled you in tightly. His body was soft and surprisingly good at wrapping you up, surrounding you with a coolness that is refreshing in the heat you’ve generated in this cave. He held you close to his chest. 

The buttons on his jacket dug into you. It’s a minor discomfort, but it added to the negativity your brain is feeding you, and you squirmed. It only took him a moment to realize what this new problem is, and in the next second everything potentially harsh or abrasive on him was gone. 

You too, you realize. You’d been hiding here in your street clothes, a hoodie and jeans, but now they had disappeared. You were pressed skin to skin against him, with only underwear between you. 

“Baby, focus on me,” Beetlejuice murmured.

He didn’t say more than that. He didn’t give you any other words to focus on, no guidance, you’re still left swinging in the wind grasping at anything to ground you--

His hand, cool and soothing, caressed the side of your head. He twined his fingers into your hair and gently put pressure on you to relax your neck muscles. You wanted to resist, your body told you needed to be ready for action, for escape--

The pressure is gentle but relentless, and you gave in. The side of your face, damp and hot from tears, rested on his chest. He doesn’t remove his hand, but stroked your hair.

“Focus on me,” he repeated. He still doesn’t give you any more direction.

There’s a maelstrom of panic swirling in you, making you shake; you can’t catch your breath, you’re still so beyond reason--

Under the ear pressed on Beetlejuice’s chest, there’s nothing. 

He’s a ghost, a small voice in your head reminded you. He doesn’t have a heartbeat.

That’s . . . nothing like what you’re experiencing. Your heart felt like it wants to be free of you, it’s racing so fast, but in his chest, it’s quiet. 

That’s . . . soothing.

Focus on me, he told you.

You do. You strained to hear anything inside him, but there is no pulse. No exchange of air in his lungs. No pops and gurgles from his digestive tract. 

Focus, focus.

When your mind slows a little, soothed by the calm inside him, you start to notice other things too. His skin is cool and mostly smooth, but you can feel the hair on his belly, softly abrasive against you. Same as the scruff on his chin, where it’s pressed against your forehead. He smells of damp earth, but it’s not unpleasant.

He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to. He continued to pet your hair softly, allowing you to relax, until your sprinting heart slowed and your panic dissipated.

Him laying beside you, keeping you close, helped ground you. It helped chase away the threat your brain tried to tell you was reality. His presence became a refuge; he lulled you back into security.

When he finally feels you relax, he kissed your forehead.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly. 

You do, but you don’t. You managed an odd hybrid of a nod and a shake of your head. He waited.

“It was just too much,” you croaked out. Your voice was as rough as his, after all the crying. “There were too many people, and I couldn’t breathe, and-and, it was like a big hand came and pushed me down. Just pinned me there, and there was so much noise and I couldn’t get away--”

You gulped as tears burned your eyes again. 

“--and then I ended up here. I don’t even remember how I got here!” You tried to make the last part of that a joke, saying it with a little chuckle, but it wasn’t funny. 

Beetlejuice didn’t tell you meaningless platitudes. He didn’t tell you that there was nothing to fear, that it was all in your head, that you were fine. He simply continued to hold you. He did stop petting your hair, but replaced it with long, sweeping strokes down your body.

“You can call me, baby,” he reminded you. “You call me, and I’ll be there. I’ll get rid of all the breathers too close to you, if you want. I’ll clear a stadium if that’s what you need! I’ll spirit you away from all of it. Whatever you need, baby.”

You nodded; you knew that. 

He pressed his lips against your forehead again, before dipping his head lower to ask against your mouth, “What can I do for you now, baby?”

You shrugged a little. 

“Can I kiss you?”

He was so close he was practically kissing you anyway. You whispered that would be nice, and his mouth was on yours, softly.

He wasn’t demanding or harsh. It was a kiss to continue to relax you, a gentle waxing and waning. He stopped before you needed another breath. 

When he pulled back, you followed him, stealing another quick kiss. You felt him smile through it. 

“Let’s make you feel good, baby,” he murmured. “Will you let me do that?”

It would be something to counter what you’d just gone through, and you couldn’t help but agree. 

Beetlejuice lavished attention on you. Still hidden under the blankets, he ran his hands everywhere, from jaw to thigh. His mouth found yours again and again, and in between kisses that had his tongue lapping at yours, he shifted to take a nipple between his lips, teasing it to a peak by nibbling gently. You arched your back when he did that, while tiny sparks of pleasure radiated through you.

Before he pushed you too much there however, he went back to kissing you.

His free hand hadn’t been idle. He’d made trails up and down your body and gave you a little push on your hip to rock you to your back, then he took the leg that was between the two of you and draped it over his own. That gave him a access between your thighs, and he ran his fingers over the thin cotton of your panties.

You jerked at the muted stimulation. Beetlejuice chuckled, and his fingers pushed under the elastic waistband so there was nothing between him and your pussy. 

You gasped.

He chuckled again, and moved quickly enough to slip his tongue between your teeth as his longest finger dipped more intimately along you. Its gentle pressure there, running the length of your pussy, made you groan around his tongue.

Beetlejuice released your mouth. Without asking permission, he flipped the blankets off the two of you, leaving you momentarily chilly. He took his hand out from between your legs, to your dismay. Before you could protest either thing, however, he brought his hand to his lips. Now that you weren’t literally kept in the dark from the weight of the blankets, you could see him take his finger into his mouth and suck it for a moment. 

He repeated the action with his first finger, then dropped them back down to between your legs to push underneath your panties again.

You lifted your hips off the bed, to help take your underwear off, but he shook his head against it. His hand was trapped against your pussy, with a little less room to move. It was a different, more solid pressure, and you found you liked it. 

Beetlejuice rubbed your clit with the pads of his fingers, tiny circles that morphed into bigger circles that morphed into still, heavy weight, that morphed back into tiny circles. Each sent pleasure through you in different waves, and it wasn’t long before you were crying out and pushing against his hand, chasing the orgasm he was building in you. 

You could feel the firm length of his cock pressing into your side. When he paused, you blindly reached to palm him through his boxers, but he tsk’ed and dipped his pelvis away until you got the hint he didn’t want that.

Your hand felt like it needed occupied, however, so since you couldn’t stroke him in return it slipped between your legs as well, outside your underwear. You pressed down on his hand as he teased you, and he seemed to like that.

With no panties on, you probably would have put a finger or two inside. Beetlejuice knew that, and just as your legs started to tremble and your voice hitched a little bit, he obliged. His middle and ring finger sank into your pussy, leaving the meat of his palm resting solidly on your clit. With your hand on top of his, bliss exploded in your gut, and you came, crying out in pleasure. 

“That’s good, baby, that’s good,” Beetlejuice praised. 

He didn’t release you for a long moment, allowing your pleasure to undulate throughout you. It was only when your voice degraded to almost a sob that he carefully extracted his hand from your panties. 

It took a little longer for your tremors to stop. In that time, Beetlejuice kissed you, stroked your hair, and whispered that you were safe and sound here with him.

Although you’d wanted to return the favor to him, although it wasn’t fair that you’d gotten off and he hadn’t even though his arousal was obvious, the panic attack you’d had plus the deep pleasure you’d gotten drained your reserves. You were sleepy and couldn’t fight keeping your eyes open. 

You tried to tell Beetlejuice you wanted to to something for him, that he deserved to have the same attention as you’d gotten, but he shushed you.

“It’s okay, baby. We’ll make it up sometime. Right now I want you to rest. I’ll be right here. Right beside you.”

At some point the blankets were back over you. Beetlejuice was good to his word; his body, now warmed from contact with you, stayed pressed against yours, and feeling calm, you drifted to sleep beside him. 

_fin._


End file.
